


Fortune Presents Gifts Not According to the Book

by PazithiGallifreya



Series: Fortune [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Female Gimli, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Genderswap, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PazithiGallifreya/pseuds/PazithiGallifreya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the following prompt from livejournal: </p><p>"Legolas/(always)Fem!Gimli, Elrond & misc elves. Gimli has no idea she's pregnant until she goes into labor. They are still traveling about Middle Earth together and the only competent help nearby is a few miles away in Imladris."</p><p>The truth of Legolas & Gimli's relationship comes out in Rivendell (along with something else equally surprising)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortune Presents Gifts Not According to the Book

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gremlinloquacious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gremlinloquacious/gifts).



> I deleted this story a while back due to various reasons, one of which was that I was never really satisfied with the quality of the writing. To that end, I've added some scenes and edited or expanded others, and re-written certain passages so it follows Walking After You more smoothly (which I had written after this piece).
> 
> I've screwed up the timelines from the Appendices a bit, and a whole lot of 'canon' besides, apologies to the purists. Call it artistic license for the sake of a bit of self-indulgent fluff I guess. Helps if you read Walking After You first, but it's not necessary, there's a bit of a summary within the first part of the text.
> 
> Warning: This is very definitely a genderswap AU in the "Rule 63" sense. Gimli is written as cis-female in this story. It is not meant as a slight against canon or against anyone else's AU or "headcanons" in any way, it is only intended as just one more dish added onto the end of the buffet line, nothing more. Please mind the tags and categories above. If that's not the kind of thing you enjoy, probably best to just skip this one and read one of the other lovely fanfiction stories on this website.
> 
> I want to thank Gremlinloquacious for giving me the courage to put this story back up again.

“Oh, this is going to be good, my love.”

 Light feminine laughter, like bells.

 “High time that lot all had a good shaking up”

 Deeper laughter echoed.

 

ooooo

 

Legolas smiled to himself as the dwarf behind him dozed lightly against his back. The stout arms at their customary position around his waist maintained a firm grip, but the occasional snuffling or soft snore reached his sensitive elven ears. Legolas recalled a time when Gimli would not have dared to relax so upon the back of a horse, having no trust for such beasts. A time not so long ago, but how things had changed! 

He slowed their mount to a leisurely walk, not wanting to awaken Gimli. There was no hurry to get anywhere. After a brief visit to their friends in the Shire they had no particular destination. They were enjoying time together on the road and taking in the sights of Arda, enjoying the hard-won peace which followed the great War of the Ring, as it was now being called. 

It had been good to see Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin again. The Shire was already repairing and rebuilding, and married life seemed to suit Frodo’s gardener well. Although Frodo clearly still suffered the ill effects of their journey, the passage of a little time had improved his spirits. 

Legolas peered ahead at a bank of fair-weather clouds gathering against the line of the Misty Mountains on the distant horizon like a flock of impatient sheep. A flock of crows startled from off to the side of the muddy track, followed by the frustrated chattering of a pair of young lynx-cats. The heat of the afternoon was building up in the valley along with a cloying humidity rising off the river several miles ahead. It could not yet be seen or heard, but the music of the Bruinen's waters already just barely brushed against the edge of Legolas' consciousness. Gimli stirred briefly behind him, murmuring something indistinct, then settled again. 

Perhaps a visit to Imladris would be in order? They were quite nearby, merely a few hours' ride away. They might as well impose on that famous hospitality for a night or two and enjoy sleeping in proper beds (as well as imposing upon Lord Elrond’s skills as a healer, if Legolas could overcome Gimli’s stubborn pride long enough to allow being looked over by an _elf_ ). 

Legolas placed a hand over Gimli’s at his waist and rubbed a thumb over the other’s fingers affectionately. The dwarf had been subdued in humor lately, often grumpy (well, more often than usual), and had been sleeping longer and become difficult to rouse in the mornings. This seemed to have no ill effect on Gimli’s appetite, however, which was as ravenous as ever, if not moreso. 

Legolas wasn’t overly worried yet, but not knowing a great deal about dwarven physiology, he'd been keeping a closer eye on her, despite her insistence that she was perfectly healthy, other than a few bouts of indigestion. 

Yes, _she_ …. That had been something of a revelation, nearly a year and a half ago. Legolas had long known that dwarves were a secretive people, and that dwarven women were considered somewhat mythical, or at least a rare sight. 

He smiled to himself at a memory of Gimli expounding upon rumors passed around among men and elves about dwarves, about there being no dwarf women but that dwarves simply sprang fully-formed from the stone of earth. She'd been trying to cheer up Eowyn at the time, and had been successful in eliciting laughter from the then grim-faced young woman. Legolas had found it amusing as well, and a touching example of kindness to a near-stranger, but had not given it any deeper thought. In hindsight, perhaps he should have. 

_We’re more common than you think, elf. We simply prefer not to reveal the nature of ourselves but to those we trust with such knowledge._

He.. no, _she_ , had winked at him then and laughed heartily at the elf’s wide-eyed astonishment. Gimli had made it clear she expected him to treat her the same as always and would tolerate no mollycoddling. 

It had been difficult at first. Indeed, their friendship had nearly come to an end then and there. He'd felt strangely betrayed that his best friend had kept such a secret from him, although he'd come to understand Gimli's reticence, at least partially. 

But, with the intervention of the Lady Galadriel (who could be at least as shrewd & meddlesome as Mithrandir, if not moreso when it suited her), they'd patched things up. They had made their way together, as promised, to Aglarond and to Fangorn, where their friendship had turned in quite an impossible direction. 

Yes, _impossible_ was a good word for it. It was absurd, they knew. Taboo, even. Simply _not done_. And yet, they did it. Secretly... but they _did it_ – exchanged their vows standing on stone, above the bones of Arda, and under bough and sky, with only birds and beasts and the stars above to bear witness. 

Judgment and consequences be damned, despite everything, _they loved each other_ , and all other enmity and disagreement aside, elves and dwarves shared one important aspect – most of them loved only once, and irrevocably. They could no more deny the calling of their own hearts than pluck them out of their chests and survive to tell of it. 

And may the Valar help them if the truth ever got out into the ears and on the wagging tongues of the world...

 

ooooo

 

Legolas perched on a fallen log, idly poking at the embers in front of him with the tip of an arrow, watching Gimli tossing and turning on her bedroll a few feet away, tangled up in a miserable knot of blankets, sweat-matted hair and increasingly bedraggled beard. It would seem neither of them would be getting any rest tonight. Legolas had no need of sleep yet and in stark contrast to her recent habits, Gimli seemed incapable of it. 

Hours before, he had laid down close behind Gimli in an attempt to offer comfort, as they often laid curled up with one another on those nights Legolas did sleep (or after, well, _other_ nocturnal activities), only this time to be brusquely shoved away, accompanied by grumbling about overly clingy elves. 

Legolas was well accustomed to Gimli’s temper and occasional turns of mood, but her reactions had become more volatile and unpredictable of late. He tried not to take it personally. _Tried,_ being the operative word. He speared a bit of smoldering wood with an arrowhead and flung it neatly into the edge of a nearby stream, watching it steam and sizzle as the heat within it was quenched. 

The day's clouds had dissipated and the moon lay low in the western sky. A greenish hue outlining the peaks of the Misty Mountains at the eastern horizon heralded the coming dawn. He stood and went over to their packs, fishing around for something to break their fast. 

There was a frustrated huff and the shifting of cloth behind him. 

“Do as pleases you, but you needn't bother yourself over anything for me this morning.” 

Gimli stood shifting her weight from one foot to another in silence for a few moments and Legolas studied her hunched silhouette in the dim light. 

“Stomach’s cramping something awful...” 

Gimli turned back to her bedroll and grabbed her boots, sitting again briefly as she pulled her boots on haphazardly. She paused again for a moment before rising and stomping off into the woods, presumably to relieve herself; her poor rest clearly had improved her mood from the day before not one jot. 

Legolas shoved the small frying pan back into Gimli’s pack and pulled out a bit of stale lembas instead, thoughtfully biting into a corner. He reminded himself that he loved his dwarf dearly, even when she was being a complete— 

“Legolas!?” 

A startling thread of fear in her voice had Legolas on his feet before Gimli’s cry ended, his breakfast forgotten. He shouldered his bow and grabbing hold of the hilt of his dagger as he dashed off in the direction of her voice, fearing the worst. 

“LEGOLAS!” 

His ears rang with the second full-throated shout, which met him like a hard branch to the face as he entered a small gap in the shrubbery. He took in his surroundings with the speed of an experienced woodsman. There were no orcs or trolls about, or even dangerous natural beasts, but the queer sight before him had the elf’s heart suddenly lodging itself in the back of his throat. 

Gimli was squatted on the grass, trousers bunched around her boots and thoroughly soaked through, liquid glistening in patches on the grass beneath her as well. His first thought was that she’d simply had an “accident”, but there was too much for it to have simply been a mistimed full bladder, so what…? Legolas stood frozen in shock and utter incomprehension. 

Gimli's shock at her own state was no less, but she broke the paralysis between them first. 

“Laddie…” She shook slightly, trying to stand straight on shaky legs. A short laugh resembling a bark escaped her as she smiled briefly before grimacing as though in some sort of pain. 

“My love, I need you.... So please shut your gaping mouth before you catch flies, and help me move.” 

The dwarf reached a hand up toward her husband. 

“Before the next Age would work for me!” 

Legolas blinked and finally grabbed the proffered hand, hauling Gimli more fully onto her feet. Gimli fisted the waist of her ruined trousers in her other hand and pulled them up, not bothering with the laces and ignoring the embarrassing dampness as much as possible as she all but dragged the stunned elf unsteadily back toward their little camp. It was several long moments still before Legolas found his voice. 

“Gimli… what exactly happened just now?” 

Gimli stopped and peered up at Legolas but did not let go of his hand. 

“My... waters broke, apparently.” 

“Your.. _‘waters’_? You don’t mean you’re, ah… you’re…” 

He couldn't get the words out. His tongue felt like a leaden weight. He couldn't even look at her as he spoke, but stared off at some mid-point in the distance. 

_He can’t even bring himself to say it_. _There’s a good portent for the future of this little family_ , Gimli thought. She swallowed thickly. 

“The common term is ‘pregnant’ I think. 'Expecting’. 'With child'. Or whatever other mealy-mouthed, asinine euphemism you prefer. And nearly done with, apparently.” 

Legolas’ head swam as the world seemed to tilt sideways. Never in his dreams did he believe they would ever, _could_ ever… 

“How… when… my love... how is this even _possible_?”

Gimli’s expression darkened, her patience wearing out. Her husband still wasn’t even looking at her. The cramping in her belly was not yet alarming but the whole situation was growing very tiresome indeed. After all, she was the one about give birth in the bloody middle of nowhere, and he had the gall to stand there like a concussed rabbit under the gaze of a hawk... 

“If I recall correctly, my dear elf, you were _there_ at the time. _Many_ times, in fact. Seemed to _enjoy_ it, even! Or are you now going to accuse me of running off with some fancy dwarrow in the middle of the night, hm?” 

The barbed statement hit its mark, all too well. Gimli’s… condition… apparently had not dulled her sharp tongue. Legolas finally turned to look down at her, somewhat crossly. 

“That’s an unfair thing to say, you know well I would never—“ 

Gimli huffed and nodded at him, her temper cooling somewhat. She did not doubt his love for her, never doubted his heart. His wits at the moment, however… 

“I’ve never heard tell of such a thing, love, but elves and dwarves have never been in the habit of marrying, so how on Arda would anyone know if no one has ever tried? Bit of a surprise for me this morning as well, you know!” 

Legolas tried to swallow around a lump in his throat. The initial shock was finally wearing off and he looked upon his wife at last, the reality of the situation slowly seeping in, bringing only a collection of uncertainties in its wake. He knew practically nothing about the bearing of children among his own people, never mind dwarves. He knew some mothers and some infants did not survive, though, and that thought alone had him finally moving again. He bit back the panic rising in his throat and bent to give Gimli a soft kiss. 

They made their way back to the campfire, where Gimli finally let go of his hand, shucked her boots and unceremoniously stripped out of her soiled clothing. She rummaged about in her pack for something dry, utterly unbothered by her own nudity. 

Legolas was grateful they were not too near the road and sheltered by trees and greenery. He was not the least bit bothered either by his wife’s appearance, having long since grown not only accustomed to, but appreciative of her form. Yet he was always wary of the potential eyes of others on her, of those who might judge or make sport of her (even though he knew she’d only be irritated if she had half an idea of how protective he felt) - a fact which would only make what he must do next that much more difficult. 

Legolas knew they could not deliver a baby out here in the wild. Even in the absence of orcs, wargs, trolls or other such road hazards, he would not risk her life on his ignorance. They would need a midwife, and soon, probably in a matter of hours, however calm Gimli seemed to be. There was only one place nearby which he thought they had even a hope of reaching in time, and he’d probably have to drag Gimli kicking and screaming - _Rivendell_.

 

ooooo

 

“I am not going to that blasted _valley_ with all those blasted _elves_ to be poked and prodded at by some blasted _elf midwife_!” 

Legolas had Gimli nearly in a headlock in a futile attempt to drag her toward their horse. 

“We don’t have time to argue over this! I know it’s early but you’ll need aid soon enough and I cannot do it myself!” 

Gimli twisted in his grasp, pulling down with her immense strength, nearly dragging the elf off his own feet. He let go of her but grasped at her sleeve before she was clear of him. 

“And what do you think are the chances of encountering a party of dwarves on this road, _including a midwife or healer_ , within the next few hours? We’ve seen a grand total of _three_ dwarven parties in the last four days, all craftsmen and traders!” 

Gimli growled deep in her throat, not willing to give in to something as silly as common sense. Their horse nearby blew hotly from her own nostrils, backing a few steps away from the quarreling couple. 

“Curse the stubborn necks of dwarves! I’ll drag you the entire way if I have to!” 

“Oh, I’d like to see you _try_ , elf!” 

They stared one another in the eye, each daring the other to back down first. 

“Gimli, you could die! The baby could die!” 

“Preposterous! No dwarrowdam of my lineage has died in childbirth or had a stillbirth in ten generations past!” 

“And how many of them were in the habit of having their children out of doors and unaided? How many of them were wed to an _elf_? We don’t even rightly know what this child is!” 

“Ach! Curse you and your bloody sensibleness!” 

Gimli threw her hands up and turned her back on Legolas, grumbling under her breath as she stomped off toward the horse. 

Legolas swiftly followed and dodged around Gimli to reach the animal first. He mounted the horse effortlessly and pulled Gimli up, seating her in front of him rather than behind as usual, and wrapping an arm firmly around her shoulders as she fisted a handful of horsehair, grumbling lowly to herself in Khuzdul. Legolas directed the animal back up to the road and then set his heels to her flanks, urging her to bring them swiftly across the last few miles to the ford of Bruinen.

 

ooooo

 

It was approaching mid-day when they entered the valley of Lord Elrond. Gimli was hunched over the horse's neck and leaning heavily against Legolas’ arm, her breath growing shallow and sweat beading over her brow when the pains came in earnest. All else aside, she was still a warrior through and through, and did not cry out, but Legolas knew all the subtle signs that she was suffering and did not slow his pace. 

He had been obliged to slow their horse to a slow canter some miles back, to spare the animal as much as he dared, but he did not halt as he rode past the guard. They shouted at him but he did not hear, nor did he notice two of them leaving their post to dash after him upon foot. By the time he reached the house of Lord Elrond and pulled his mount to a halt, a small crowd was forming. 

“ _You cannot just fly into a protected realm—“_

“ _Son of Thranduil, just what do you think you are—“_

“ _Where’s the fire—”_

“ _What’s happened—“_

Legolas ignored the protestations and questions of the elves surrounding him, scanning his surroundings only for Lord Elrond himself. His eyes darted over the faces in the crowd frantically. 

“I need to speak to Lord Elrond immediately, the matter is urgent.” 

More questions, more competing voices babbling nonsense he did not bother to listen to. Gimli groaned softly, the first noise Legolas had heard from her since they broke camp that morning. The horse blew and stamped, mirroring her riders’ growing agitation and pain. 

“Oh, please tell them all to shut up!” 

The pain in Gimli’s voice pulled at his heart. _Where is Lord Elrond? There’s no time for this circus!_

Finally the crowd parted and the Lord of Imladris appeared. 

“Hail, Legolas, son of Thranduil; Gimli, son of Gloin, what brings you to Imladris in such haste?” 

Elrond’s piercing blue eyes traveled across the pair, taking in every detail. He looked upon Gimli for a long moment and his eyes suddenly widened, as though startled. The expression passed so quickly that Legolas thought he might have imagined it, but nonetheless Legolas’ face grew hot, fearing exposure out here surrounded by what seemed to be half of Elrond’s people. 

Elrond turned to his aid, Lindir, and whispered something. Lindir peered up curiously at the pair on horseback before nodding sharply and began shooing off the crowd, ordering the guards back to their posts and dismissing the rest. 

“Yes… I see you certainly do have need of my aid.” 

Elrond beckoned Legolas to dismount and helped him lift Gimli down to rest on unsteady feet. That Gimli allowed it without protestation was an astonishment Legolas filed away to be pondered at another time. Elrond knelt beside the dwarf, gently looking her over. Gimli grit her teeth and glanced accusingly at Legolas from the corner of one eye. Legolas knew her meaning without the necessity of words - _I’m only doing this for your sake, not because I need it_. 

“Can you walk, Gimli?” 

“Of course I can bloody well walk, my legs haven’t fallen off, have they?” 

Elrond ignored the outburst and stood, placing a light hand behind Gimli’s shoulder, guiding her indoors and through the hallways of his home as Legolas took pace behind her.

 

ooooo

 

He knew this would attract all the wrong sort of attention as soon as he realized what was happening, but he thought they could at least attempt to be _discreet_ about their accursed curiosity. The next face belonging to one other than the one he’d chosen to assist, that came through that door, would end up with a heavy object impacting with his or her nose. 

He could even _hear_ them out in the hallway. All of them centuries old, some thousands of years old, out there gossiping like a pack of bored adolescents. 

“ _A pregnant dwarf!”_

As though it were something truly astounding. He supposed they had all bought into that nonsense about dwarves springing out of holes in the ground or somesuch. How much easier it is to dismiss them when denying that they are flesh and blood as you are! 

Finally Elrond got up and shut the door, locking it behind him. When Lindir returned with the supplies he’d requested, he could knock like a civilized being. Elrond had bypassed the usual rooms reserved for healing work and brought the laboring dwarrowdam, followed by Thranduil’s son (who flatly refused to wait outside) to a set of private rooms adjacent to his own, generally reserved for use by immediate family when visiting. That alone ought to have been a clue to his subjects that he did not wish for their “company” in this matter. 

“Is this all really necessary?” 

Not to mention that the dwarf in question wasn’t exactly making this easy, either. 

“Yes, I’m afraid it is. Please undress and change into what you’ve been given. I assure you it’s _quite_ necessary.” 

The last babe that had been delivered in Imladris was centuries old now; his own people were dwindling and passing West in greater numbers with each passing year; soon he would leave as well, and reunite with his Celebrian. He could feel the calling of the sea and the ache of the distance separating him from his wife settling in his very bones. He was pained by the knowledge he would leave his daughter behind, but there was nothing left to be done; as he would leave for the sake of his love, she would remain for the sake of hers, and her own children to come. 

_I’m getting far too old for this sort of thing._

He turned aside as Legolas spoke in low tones to Gimli, who complained but consented, finally. 

Elrond knew they were close friends, bound in shared pain and shed blood on the battlefield, but something about the way they interacted raised curious suspicions in his mind, and he watched surreptitiously as Legolas helped Gimli undress, pausing occasionally as her pains came and passed. 

They were very… familiar, with one another. Legolas unwound the cloth binding Gimli’s breasts with practiced ease, undid clasps, buttons and lacings without hesitation; the dwarf showed no particular modesty regarding Legolas’ eyes (which did not shy in the least from the dwarf’s stout, thickly muscled and shockingly _furry_ frame), other than the annoyance at having to change in the first place. Gimli was finally clothed in the simple gown (far too long, and not quite broad enough, but the best fit that could be had on such short notice). 

Elrond shook off his reverie and moved over to the pair, motioning Legolas out of the way. The dwarf glared at him in a clear challenge when he moved to touch her. Legolas laid a placating hand on her shoulder but the gesture made no difference. 

“I cannot help you if you will not allow me to touch you.” 

Gimli looked back to Legolas, who squeezed her shoulder in response. 

“Fine, _fine_. Do… whatever it is.” 

The healer moved quickly as possible, pushing the gown out of the way to press on the impatient dwarrowdam’s abdomen, trying to feel the position of the infant as best he could through denser musculature and more ample padding than he was accustomed to. Elrond silently thanked the Valar that at least it was positioned correctly (head down); he did not desire to attempt a breech birth after so many centuries out of practice. 

However, something did not seem quite… right. He paused and felt around again; he could not claim firsthand knowledge of dwarven childbirth. He’d read second-hand accounts of it, as he read about nearly everything, but no more. By his best estimation the babe was probably about average size… _for an elf_. A bit large then, probably, for a _dwarf_. 

As bits and pieces joined together, an alarming picture was suddenly forming clearly in his mind. He breathed deeply and resolved to put his foot in it. Might as well know now, as it would come out sooner or later anyway (quite literally). Perhaps a more roundabout inquiry.. 

“Forgive me for prying… but do not dwarves prefer to take care of these matters among their own people? I am surprised to find you in these parts in such a delicate state, I should think your husband would not have allowed—“ 

Elrond’s suspicions were indeed confirmed as Legolas turned on him, eyes flashing dangerously. 

“ _I_ am her husband and I would _die_ before I allowed her to come to harm!” 

When Elrond offered no reprobation, nor any reply beyond a softening expression, the anger drained suddenly out of the younger elf, replaced by fear and (oh, Valar help them) no small measure of shame. Legolas dropped his gaze to the sheets covering the bed, his hand moving to Gimli’s (who was glaring around Legolas at Elrond in such a manner that he was grateful looks could not kill). 

“Neither of us knew she was, ah, expecting... that it was… possible.” 

Elrond surprised himself in that he felt no revulsion at this knowledge, though he knew Legolas expected him to, but merely sympathy. And worry. Elrond’s own mixed blood had been a topic for whispered gossip and even outright scorn more than once; he remembered the stinging glances and comments he and his brother had sometimes drawn, even as little children. 

This child would likely suffer worse; despite brief periods of cooperation and even tentative friendship, the enmity between elves & dwarves ran older and deeper than that between elves & men. Many elves considered dwarves to be the nothing more than the malformed children of a lesser creator, conveniently forgetting that however and by whomever their bodies had been shaped and formed, it was Eru Illuvatar who granted them the true breath of life, the same as He had gifted to elves & men. 

As for the dwarves... who knew how they would react?

 

ooooo

 

“ _I am her husband and I would die before I allowed her to come to harm!”_

Lindir froze with a hand raised to knock at the door in front of him, a bag full of the items Lord Elrond had sent him to fetch bundled under the other arm. 

“ _I am her husband”_

The raised voice of Thranduil’s son had come through the door to hit him like a sack of bricks to the head. 

“ _I am her husband”_

He wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there, now, fist suspended in the air. He blinked owlishly, reality slowly settling back into place around him. 

He’d been shocked enough when the prince rode bold as brass into the heart of Rivendell clasping a dwarf to his breast. He’d immediately recognized the dwarf as one of the nine walkers who had set out with the halfling on his quest to destroy the ring of power. 

Female, apparently, though how anyone could possibly tell the difference… he’d never been quite sure they actually existed. He’d heard the rumors, everybody had heard the rumors. 

And… Legolas Thranduilion. His _wife!_ A _dwarf_! He could not even imagine. 

Lindir’s hand dropped uselessly to his side. As he turned away from the door to collect himself, he caught the flash of another elf dashing down the hallway. His stomach dropped to somewhere around his knees. It _would_ have to be that old gossip Trathron. 

_No good can come of this,_ was all he could think. 

Lindir braced himself and finally gathered the courage to knock on the door and enter.

 

ooooo

 

A crowd had formed again outside the locked door, no less than half a dozen pointed ears pressed against it while others jostled for position, listening for any activity from the three elves and dwarf on the other side. 

Inside, there was no time for arguing over the merits or demerits of what had transpired; a child was soon to be born whether welcomed or not. 

Lindir had seated himself a few feet away from the rest, staring out of a nearby window as the first stars of the evening appeared in the sky. Various items were stacked on a small table to his right while water boiled over the fireplace; Lindir silently passed said items to his Lord Elrond as required. His head ached in time with his heartbeat; he desperately wished to be anywhere but in this wretched room. 

Gimli no longer bothered trying to keep silent; she felt like she was being torn apart from the inside out and there was no enemy to resist or fight against in this most curious of battles. Each pain hit her like the crest of a wave, coming more quickly now; she could hardly catch her breath. 

She was exhausted and fed up - with the waiting, with the pain, with all these dratted _elves_. She’d already had to shove both Elrond and Legolas aside more than once to shift position. They had actually expected her to give birth _lying helplessly flat on her back_. What kind of self-respecting dwarf would ever—bloody preposterous! 

Legolas perched on the bed near her, nervously chewing at the end of a lock of hair, paying no heed to the dwarf’s hand violently gripping his tunic, threatening to tug it to pieces with each bout of pain. 

Elrond glanced up at Gimli, at Legolas. He had hoped for this to go more quickly, but the night dragged on.

 

ooooo

 

Trathron huffed as he was finally pushed from the door by another curious elf who was tired of waiting for her turn. 

“I don’t know why anyone cares, really. It’s all quite disgusting if you ask me.” 

He gave one backwards glance over his thin, pointed nose at the gathered crowd, who were paying him no attention, and decided a trip to the kitchens for a snack was more worthy of his time anyway.

 

ooooo

 

It was well past midnight when, finally, the crown of the baby’s head appeared. After that, things proceeded mercifully quickly, if loudly – Elrond knew well enough that dwarves could be deafening in volume, had heard more than one dwarven war-cry in his lifetime, but never quite this closely or _repeatedly._ Even Legolas had given up trying to whisper encouragement to his wife, who had indeed managed to put a large tear in a seam of his tunic, not that either of them had bothered to notice. 

The room was soon filled by another sort of cry entirely, as something new and unforeseen entered the world. 

Lindir was suddenly roused from his rumination as something was carefully but swiftly deposited on him, his arms suddenly full of screaming newborn. He blinked at the squalling child a few times before reacting properly, finally moving to clean her and wrap her up in the swaddling. 

He couldn’t help but study her as he did so. She was about the same size as the few newborn elves he distantly remembered, but with noticeably broad hands and feet. Her ears were pointed, but oversized and oddly set. She already had thick, curled hair, still plastered flat to her head but drying quickly. The dampness and dim firelight made the color difficult to determine accurately, but he thought it might be a reddish blonde. He was reminded of the halflings, more than anything else. _At least she doesn’t have a beard…_

He looked up to see Elrond dealing with the afterbirth, which had come blessedly quickly, then reaching for cloths and a suture kit. He hadn’t noticed the amount of blood before, hadn’t really been paying much attention beyond responding to Elrond’s requests for various things. There was… quite a lot, and the amount soaking its way through the cloths and towels was growing. Legolas was pale and looked terrified, and Gimli had become eerily quiet; Lindir wasn’t sure if the dwarf was still conscious. 

Lindir sat down again, clutching the child, now also quiet, to his chest. Whatever else any may say or think in coming days, he could not bring himself to think ill of her.

 

ooooo

 

The crowd outside the locked door had more or less dispersed by dawn. Now mid-morning, the Last Homely House East of the Sea was quiet and still. 

A few elves lingered over breakfast, whispering and tittering amongst themselves. As always, gossip spread quickly. 

“Didn't you hear? Legolas, son of Thranduil, prince of Mirkwood, has taken a dwarf for a wife!” 

“It won't too long before the news reaches the ears of the woodland king himself.” 

“ _Oh, what will he say?”_

A hastily bathed and changed but still slightly disheveled Lord Elrond finally appeared again in the hallways of Imladris. He pretended not to notice the many eyes boring into his back as he passed, all dropping hastily when he turned to meet them. Some of them were probably just curious, but he knew what many of them were probably thinking. 

He stopped in one hallway and leaned against a wall, resting his tired head against the cool stonework. Laughter reached him from around a nearby corner, and it did not sound good-humored. 

“Oh Trathron, just wait until old Thranduil hears of this! They’ll have to peel him off the ceiling!” 

“It’s hardly a matter for jest, nothing good will come of this, mark my word. If this doesn’t lead to war between Erebor and Mirkwood, I’ll eat my own boots. I can’t believe Thranduil’s own son… with that _ugly_ little _dwarf_! I am only glad that we shall be departing these shores soon, if misguided fools think it’s a bright idea breeding up a brood of… whatever-it-is, some kind of dwarf-elf- _mule_ ” 

_That is it. Enough._ Lord Elrond righted himself and rounded the corner. 

“A _mule_ , is it? Is that what you say, Trathron? And what, then, would you call _me_?” 

Trathron froze like a thief caught in the act, while his companion, Gledhril, stood in silence behind him, suddenly finding her own shoes to be a matter of great interest. 

“L... L... Lord Elrond!” 

Lord Elrond glared at the both of them with no intention of moving until he had a reply. 

“I… I did not know you were there, I meant no offense toward you or your kin… I mean… obviously that’s a completely different situation! Entirely unrelated!” 

“Am I truly so different from the daughter of Legolas, Trathron? Do you not know the meaning of my name, why I am called _Peredhel,_ Half-Elven?” 

Elrond noticed with satisfaction that Trathron was beginning to sweat profusely. 

“Yes, m’lord… but—” 

“But, _what,_ Trathron? 

Elrond leaned forward, using his greater height to his advantage, pushing his way a bit into Trathron’s space just _so._

Oh, he knew it was a tad petty to take so much pleasure in another’s discomfiture, but somewhere during previous day and night, Elrond had ceased to care about the tender feelings of idle gossipers with cruel tongues. 

Elrond watched a small battle rage across Trathron’s expression. Eventually his self-righteous contempt finally won out over his fear of Elrond’s wrath. 

“…but a… a… _dwarf!_ ” 

Elrond fought down the temptation to just issue a hardy slap to the other elf’s smug face, but he doubt it would do any good. He stepped back but did not lower his sharp gaze. 

“You would do well to keep your tongue behind your teeth, Trathron. Legolas and his family are my guests in this house. And as for dwarves… as the time of the Elves in Arda comes to a close, it is a great shame and regret to me that we have never reconciled our disagreements with them, nor learned to appreciate their gifts for what they are, rather than merely what they can do for us.” 

He looked past Trathron at Gledhril, catching her eyes as she tentatively lifted her head. Her face reddened and she immediately returned to her staring contest with her shoelaces. 

_I am far, far too old for this._

He turned and left the gossips standing in the hallway, unable to spare any more energy on them.

 

ooooo

 

Legolas sat only half awake by Gimli’s bedside in an old rocking chair that Lindir had just pulled into the room from somewhere dusty. His baby girl was dozing in his arms, her eyes closed in peaceful sleep in the manner of both dwarves and men. She would need a name, but his mind was drawing a blank at the moment. There would be time enough find something fitting. 

His wife was sleeping also, snoring softly beside him despite the lingering pain; it had taken some time for Elrond to staunch the worst of the bleeding several hours ago and they'd been warned that it would likely continue in some small amount for several days, if not weeks. Elrond had assured him that Gimli’s life was in no danger, but she would need time to heal. Their stay in Imladris was apparently to be an extended one. The return Eastward was going to have to wait, he supposed.

 

ooooo

 

Legolas had nodded off entirely when a voice and a soft hand on his shoulder roused him. He wasn’t quite sure what was being said to him or requested of him, but after Lord Elrond’s hands lifted his daughter from his arms and turned toward Gimli, he shook the drowsiness from his head. 

Gimli was not pleased when Elrond roused her, grumbling in her usual fashion, but forgot her complaints soon enough as her baby girl was finally handed to her. Elrond stepped back and seated himself in the chair Lindir had occupied the night before to give the small family a bit of space. 

“She’s beautiful, Legolas. She has your blue eyes.” 

Legolas smiled wistfully at them. 

“Babies nearly always have blue eyes. I’d wager they’ll turn brown, like yours.” 

“No, my love, they’ll stay blue – I said so and so they shall.” 

Legolas rolled his own blue eyes but grinned like a fool. _At least she is feeling well enough to argue with me again._

Elrond laughed to himself at the disgustingly sappy tableau before him from his seat in the corner before clearing his throat to get Gimli’s attention. 

“Do you know how to feed her?” 

Gimli managed to look like the picture of offended dignity despite the utter disarray of hair and beard. 

“I assume she is to be fed like every other babe in Arda! Or do elves have some special secret fashion? Do not tell me she has to eat that bland waybread of yours, I am certain that would qualify as brutality.” 

“Hardly. But do please say something if you are having any difficulty, it is not uncommon.” 

Gimli waved him off as she turned her attention back to her daughter who was, indeed, now awake. Legolas helped Gimli up to sit, gathering pillows behind her back, and opened her gown for her, sneaking a quick kiss while settling their daughter in her proper place. Legolas tried desperately not to laugh when Gimli suddenly tucked her beard around the infant like a makeshift blanket and earned a sharp pinch to his arm when he failed. 

“By the by, we can’t just call her ‘sweet thing’ and ‘dear one’ and such silliness, no matter how well they fit her. She needs a proper name, and soon.” 

Legolas left off rubbing the impressive bruise that was forming on his bicep. 

“I was hoping you would have some ideas, actually.” 

Gimli’s stern glare did not shift. 

“It’s tradition for the father or his kin to choose a name, and it must be done by the end of the day.” 

Legolas stared at his wife and daughter for a long time, occasionally rubbing at his brow or tugging at a lock of hair. He looked beseeching at Lord Elrond, who still sat quietly across the room. 

“What will you name her, Legolas Greenleaf? She is something new to this world.” 

He was speaking more to himself than to Legolas; for all his sympathy for the new father’s confusion, it was not Elrond’s place to choose a name. 

_Something new_ , thought Legolas. 

_Cíweth_

“Her name is ‘Cíweth’.” 

Gimli lifted an eyebrow. 

“….Cíweth? Really?” 

She could barely pronounce it…. well, tradition is tradition. So be it. 

“Oh fine, ‘Cíweth’ it is. Even if it is absurd. Still, it is better than ‘Legolas’ I suppose.” 

“And just what is wrong with ‘Legolas’ pray tell?” 

“It’s as utterly silly and ridiculous as the one what bears it, that’s what!” 

Legolas nearly felt cross, but hearing Gimli’s rich laughter for the first time in weeks was worth the insult. He half expected the baby to complain at her mother’s sudden outburst, but Cíweth didn’t seem to mind.

 

ooooo

 

Legolas entered their borrowed rooms to be greeted with his wife standing on a chair, wearing a _dress_ of all things, or at least what would be a dress once it was finished. The cloth was a dark, rich navy blue, nearly black, bearing a simple trim of silver, and rather less frilly than anything a new elvish mother would wear (thankfully, as Gimli complained enough as it was). Still, it was clearly of elvish make and the contrast to its wearer was startling, to say the least. Legolas could not remember ever seeing Gimli in anything other than trousers and chainmail, even at Aragorn’s coronation and wedding. Legolas glanced around and espied Gimli’s traveling pack and armor stashed in the corner, axes leaned against the wall beside Legolas’ own weapons. 

They had been in Imladris a full week now and Gimli’s usual kit had proven to be highly impractical for a nursing mother, but finding anything to fit her properly in a community of elves seemed impossible.  The hands of a shy elf maid fluttered around the dwarf like butterflies. She appeared to have some skill as a seamstress, and must have taken pity and offered her help while Legolas had been out walking through the gardens after their breakfast. Legolas was surprised that Gimli was allowing it, but supposed she had realized the necessity of it. 

The elf woman had not apparently noticed his entrance, but Gimli glanced at him. She seemed slightly embarrassed but said nothing. 

“I think I'll need to let it out a bit more at the waist, um... you're just built a bit differently to elves.” 

Gimli grumbled something under her breath and the seamstress stopped her movements. 

“I did not mean that as an insult--” 

Gimli glanced at Legolas, her expression unreadable. The seamstress followed her gaze and startled at the sight of the other elf in the room, standing to bow to the elven prince. Legolas smiled kindly and nodded to her, hoping to reassure her. 

“It is very kind of you to help Gimli... er..” 

“Cuguthel, m'lord.” 

She bowed again slightly and Legolas waved off the unnecessary gesture. His eyes fell upon his daughter sleeping peacefully in a basket nearby and he turned to leave again, feeling somehow like he was intruding, although neither of them had asked him to leave. 

“I, er, suppose I will leave the two of you to it.” 

Cuguthel went to work taking measurements, though given the sudden complaining that issued forth from the closed door behind Legolas, Cuguthel had clearly had her task cut out for her. 

Legolas was grateful for the seamstress’s generosity and apparently endless patience, especially given that half of Imladris were still giving his family a wide berth when not whispering behind their backs. They had friends here, apparently, but only a few. 

 

ooooo

 

 _I’ll never get used to this_ , Legolas thought. _Not in the passing of an Age. Two Ages, even_. 

He leaned against a post in the shade of Lord Elrond’s private porch, silently watching Gimli as she sat in the gentle sunlight of Imladris nursing Cíweth (who, as usual, was nearly wholly covered under her dwarf mother’s beard save for a few curls of reddish-blonde hair) chatting amiably with Glorfindel. Legolas was still astounded at the odd friendship that had grown between the two of them during their time here. He was glad Gimli had found someone she could have a conversation with that was neither full of vague back-handed insults nor a lot of tiptoeing around. Legolas had not known Glorfindel well before, despite having heard all the stories of his impressive adventures as a child. 

Legolas stared out over the valley, too lost in his own thoughts to join their conversation. Cíweth was growing quickly, more quickly than elven children are apt to, though more slowly than typical dwarf children. He, Gimli and Elrond had needed a long discussion about the matter a fortnight ago, mostly to assuage Gimli’s worries over the health of their child. They all eventually agreed that it was just a blessing she did not grow so fast as the children of men, as there was enough trouble keeping her dressed, even with Cuguthel’s sewing. He tried not to dwell on what the future may hold. 

“Aye, we all thought the worst at the time, but of course we know now that Gandalf had taught that wretched thing a lesson or three!” 

His attention suddenly turned back to what was in front of him. Somehow Gimli had managed to turn the subject around to that of balrogs, of all cursed things… how she could sit there calmly with her child in the warm sunshine of Rivendell and make light of the terror they all had faced in Moria, and what Glorfindel himself had done so long ago, finding cause in it to _laugh_ even… Legolas shook his head in disbelief. 

“Ah, they are powerful, but certainly not the cleverest of devils, no.” 

At least Glorfindel seemed good-humored about it rather than offended; Legolas did not know if he could stand the mortification of his wife insulting such a storied and revered figure. Gimli’s never-ending stream of sarcasm and ill temper in front of Lord Elrond during their child's birth had been embarrassing enough. 

Legolas breathed in deeply through his nose, trying to calm his nerves. Nearly a month had passed since he had finally consented to allow Lord Elrond to send word to Thranduil of what had transpired, over a week after Gimli had insisted herself the same be done for her own parents at Erebor. 

Some kind of reply should have arrived by now, if any were going to be sent. Gimli’s own kin were, according to a note delivered by one of the mountain’s ravens, currently on their way toward Rivendell, and should arrive any day now. Thranduil’s silence lay like heavy snowfall on his heart.

 

ooooo

 

The arrival of three more dwarves early one morning in Rivendell set tongues wagging anew. Gimli watched for a moment from an overlooking balcony as her father Gloin dismounted from his pony first, followed by her mother, Unli. Behind them came cousin Dwalin, bearing a few new scars and his beard streaked with more gray than Gimli had remembered, but looking grim and hale as ever. 

Gimli decided at that moment she had never seen a more welcome sight in her life and rushed down the hallway, running past Legolas before he could even inquire as to the cause of her haste. 

Lord Elrond was in the middle of a formal greeting to the visitors when Gimli all but flew through the gap between him and Lindir, turning just slightly to avoid a collision with the elves only to land heavily in Gloin’s outstretched arms. 

Gloin turned with the impact, lifting his daughter off her feet momentarily and bringing their foreheads together in an impact that would leave anyone but a hard-headed dwarf in a daze. Dwalin huffed in displeasure behind them. Unli merely laughed at their disregard for protocol and stepped in front of them to offer Lord Elrond and Lindir a bow and “at your service” in their stead. 

Gloin moved to stand properly, but Gimli did not release her grip on his neck. 

“Aye lass, I’m happy to see you too.” 

Another moment passed. 

“Eh… ye need to le’ me go, darlin’.” 

He dropped a quick kiss on his daughter’s forehead and gently pried her off. 

“Sorry, adad… I'm just happy to see everyone. Getting a bit tired of all these bloody elves is all.” 

Gloin laughed and pulled Gimli ahead of him, winking at Elrond as they passed. Dwalin followed silently and Unli smiled sweetly at him. 

“I think we can find our way from here, m'Lord, thank you kindly.” 

Lindir stared at their backs as they passed, wincing at the oncoming headache he felt as he remembered the chaos left behind the last time they had entertained a party of dwarves. 

“If they go anywhere _near_ our fountains, so help me….”

 

ooooo

 

Unli shuffled ahead of Dwalin to join her husband at their daughter’s side. 

“Well, Gimli, where’s the bairn? We came all this way to see her, after all.” 

Gimli spied Legolas standing at the end of the hallway near their rooms, waiting for them where she had left him. 

“Still sleeping I imagine. She would not settle last night for anything. I finally got her down a couple hours ago.” 

Her mother laughed but not unkindly. 

“You were no different as a wee thing, kept me up many a night. Perhaps now you’ll appreciate me and your father just a bit more!” 

Gimli barely heard her mother’s comment as they approached Legolas. She left her parents’ side and rushed ahead to pull her husband into their rooms, not wanting this particular meeting to occur in plain view (the gossip in Imladris may have waned over the past weeks, but had certainly not died, and she was about sick of hearing it). 

The rest of her kin piled in after her and she shut the door swiftly behind them. 

Dwalin parted from his cousins’ reunion, going over immediately to peer into an old crib situated between the bed and a large window. 

_Mahal bless, look at those ears!_

The messenger had not been lying, then. There was no doubting the girl was half-elven. He'd half hoped that it was all a trick, and he was merely looking at an overgrown hobbit babe, but he knew the truth. _Poor mite, she’s not gonna have it easy_. He reached into the crib with a gentleness one would not expect such a warrior capable of. Dwalin lifted his youngest (and certainly strangest) cousin without waking her and turned to bring her to the rest of the family. 

He had to wait for moment, though, as Gloin was currently occupied with keeping the tall blond elf all but pinned against a corner of the room with a hard gaze. 

“So this is the one, then, lass?”

“Yes, adad. Legolas—“ 

“Yes, yes, we’ve met b’fore…. I remember yer father’s good hospitality well enough, elf. Cozy… as far as dungeons go.” 

Legolas felt like he had swallowed something foul. The mention of his father, dungeons or otherwise, did nothing to lessen his suffering. 

“Where is the old goat, by the way? I would’ve expected him to arrive before us, being closer an’ all. Ye _did_ send word to him, did ye not? I suppose ye owe him that much… not that I care, particularly.” 

Legolas was slow to reply, unsure of how best to misdirect or excuse. He gave up and settled for the simple truth, such is it was. 

“A message was sent. He has not replied.” 

“Hm.” 

Gloin stepped back from the elf, his prickliness abating suddenly. Legolas wasn’t sure whether the hint of pity he saw in the dwarf was better or worse than the blustering paternal animosity it replaced. 

Legolas was grateful when the dwarves’ attention shifted away from him to the baby. He was happy to let them coo and fuss over his daughter; at least they seemed to accept _her_ , which was more important anyway. He withdrew and seated himself next to the fireplace, content to let the family of dwarves catch up with one another.

 

ooooo

 

Glorfindel whistled a light tune, getting up after Gimli had excused herself from their usual mid-afternoon meeting on the western porch, needing to go change her daughter and lay the child down for a nap. 

Trathron suddenly stepped in front of his path. 

“I can't imagine why someone as well-respected as yourself would be continually found consorting with those... _freaks_.” 

Glorfindel smiled at the young elf (to him, at least, nearly all the elves in Imladris were young). 

“Let me pass, Trathron.” 

“You bring shame to the rest of us, you know. Elrond allows it but I suppose as the Lord of this realm one must excuse certain... eccentricities, but--” 

Glorfindel's smile broadened into a wolfish grin as he crowded Trathron. 

“Oh, something shameful is going on, alright, but it has naught to do with Lord Elrond or with his guests.” 

Trathron finally took a step backward from the warrior. Glorfindel smiled and patted the elf patronizing on the cheek. 

“They're happy, Trathron. Consider yourself blessed that you are so coddled and spoiled that you cannot understand the significance of such a thing.” 

By now, Glorfindel's teeth were showing. Trathron seemed torn between his ego's desire to censure another and a rather more basic instinct for self-preservation. Glorfindel tired of the game, however, and merely shoved the elf aside like an annoying insect and continued whistling his cheery tune from earlier as he made his way toward the library to peruse a few cookbooks. He had an idea about something sweet for Cíweth for when she began to wean to solid food....

 

ooooo

 

Gimli had finally worked up the courage to take supper in the Hall of Fire with her family. She'd avoided it thus far, preferring to take meals with her husband and daughter, and now her parents and cousin, in their rooms, away from bothersome, prying eyes. 

Glorfindel had invited them personally, however. He was performing some kind of music tonight, he said, and wanted them to attend. She couldn't very well refuse after the kindness he'd showed her and her daughter over the weeks. Her mother had offered watch Cíweth and she had run out of legitimate excuses, anyhow. In the end, she could tell Legolas badly needed a distraction and a change of scenery, more than anything else. They still had not heard any reply from Thranduil. 

They had been seated near to Elrond and across from Lindir. Gimli had all but grabbed poor Cuguthel and forced her into the seat on the other side of her. The elf maiden had been very quiet lately, and while she was still friendly and helpful as ever, something seemed to be bothering her. 

An elf Gimli had been keeping an eye on for weeks sat down across from them, beside Lindir. Trathron, she believed his name was, having asked some time ago. She'd noticed the elf staring after her and her family more than once when walking through Imladris, moreso than many of the other gossips of the realm. She did not like the look of him. His presence also seemed to upset Cuguthel as well, who avoided his glance. Lindir, too, seemed to keep watch on Trathron from the corner of his eye. 

Food was brought in, the usual elven fair. Dwalin and her father grumbled but ate enough for three, particularly greedy with the joints of roast venison included in the main course, and even ate the green vegetables, despite half-hearted complaints about them (Gimli thought they were seasoned well enough, if oddly, and knew her father and cousin ate plenty of vegetables back home without sparing a thought). 

As the plates were being cleared away and more wine brought out, Glorfindel took his place in front of the massive hearth at the head of the room with a harp and began to sing. 

Gimli pulled out her pipe and lit it for the first time since her daughter's birth (she had worried it might give the child a cough). She tried to keep her attention on her friend's performance, but Trathron was now staring at her in earnest. 

Glorfindel finished the first piece, a lay about some or other tragedy from the First Age, and began a purely instrumental number on his harp. 

Gimli shifted on the bench to return Trathron's glare. If he had something to say, he could bloody well say it, she thought. 

“Is there something you need, elf?” 

Trathron glanced around the room briefly, probably to confirm that the crowd's attention was firmly on the musician in front of them, and leaned across the table to speak in low tones. 

“You don't belong here, dwarf.” 

Gimli drew on her pipe and exhaled through her nose. 

“I am a guest in this house at the leave _your_ lord Elrond. If you take issue with it, I suggest you talk to _him_.” 

Trathron leaned closer to Gimli. 

“You don't belong _anywhere_ , dwarf, and neither does that abomination you call a child or that pervert of a husband of yours.” 

Gimli's temper flared but she banked the flames out of deference to Lord Elrond and her friend Glorfindel's performance. An idea suddenly entered her mind and she simply smirked at the fool of an elf sitting across from her. 

Gimli calmly put out her pipe and stowed it back in a bag hanging from her belt. She leaned back on the bench and smiled at Trathron, whose challenging glare was now weakened with confusion. Probably he'd expected her to strike him and make a scene. Indeed, she'd expected as much of herself. But sometimes there are other ways... 

Gimli shifted her weight, pulling her knees underneath her on the bench for a bit of extra height and suddenly grabbed an unaware Legolas beside her, bending him over and kissing him hard and thoroughly on the mouth. 

The music at the head of the room was interrupted buy a wolf-whistle and enthusiastic applause from the balrog slayer. A murmur traveled around the room as the center of attention shifted. Cuguthel tried and failed to stifle laughter. There was a solid thump on the other side of the table as Trathron slid from the bench to the floor. He'd fainted. Even Dwalin's booming laugh did not wake him. Elrond and Lindir exchanged glances and smiled in satisfaction.

 

ooooo

 

A couple more weeks passed quickly and uneventfully, Trathron having skulked off somewhere to nurse his bruised ego after the “incident” at Glorfindel's performance. Very suddenly it seemed, they were packing their things. 

“Have you seen the halls of Erebor, love?” 

Legolas shook his head as he folded the last of Cíweth’s clothes, sparing a glance across the room where his daughter slept soundly in the old crib. He had been to Dale on occasion, and aided in trade agreements with both the men of Dale and the dwarves of Erebor, but he had never been invited inside that mountain. Few elves and men could claim so. 

Legolas carefully placed the clothes into a bag, trying not to rumple them too badly, although the road would likely do it for him anyway. Cuguthel had made a few extra gowns in larger sizes for her to grow into as a parting gift. Legolas decided he would miss her shy, quiet way. She had done much to make his wife and daughter feel welcome, unlike most of Lord Elrond’s people (Lindir and Glorfindel excepted). 

“Then you are in for a treat! A living dwarf city is a far fairer sight than what you saw in Moria.” 

Gimli fell silent after mentioning her cousin’s burial place. Legolas knew that the violent loss of Balin was a wound in her heart that would likely never go away entirely, and the desecration of _Khazad_ _-_ _dûm_ a bitter loss. 

Dwalin and Gimli’s parents had left them to go retrieve their ponies and Legolas and Gimli’s horse from the stables. They would be setting out for Erebor in a matter of hours. 

Everything of his own packed up, Legolas kneeled and pulled Gimli into an embrace from behind, parting her thick hair to kiss at the sensitive skin of her neck (who would have ever guessed that the thick-skinned dwarves hid such soft places beneath all that hair?). Gimli paused in her own packing and sighed quietly as she leaned into him and placed a hand over his where it lay over her heart.

“They’ll be returning soon, love.” 

Legolas gave her one last parting kiss at the bare patch of skin just under her ear and stood. They’d had precious little privacy in the past three months since they first entered this valley of elves, and it had taken nearly that long for Gimli to heal properly. Legolas did not know if he would ever feel comfortable among Gimli’s kin, either. He was not a dwarf any more than Gimli was an elf. And their daughter? Only time would reveal her fate and fortune. 

“I’m going to walk for a while. I’d like to take a last look at Rivendell before we leave.” 

Gimli nodded silently, understanding his feelings despite their differing opinions on the virtues of Imladris. 

The day was warm but not hot, a few insects buzzing about and the sound of birds nesting in the trees the only disturbance to the air. A few of Elrond’s people were about but most were out of sight somewhere, going about their own business. They seemed to have finally lost interest in Legolas and the dwarves now that they were leaving. 

Legolas left the house to stroll along one of the paths which wound its way through the gardens and surrounding forest valley. Imladris was truly a place of beauty and a reflection of the blessings of the Eldar, and he was loathe to depart from it, though he understood all too well his wife’s desire to be among her own. 

Imladris may be the closest thing to a home he would ever have again, he suddenly thought, and soon it would be bereft not only of himself and his family, but Lord Elrond’s people as well. 

He thought of it empty and untended, left to the ministrations of bird and beast, and the slow creep of time and nature, falling into crumbling stone and moss. Such would be the fate of all the homes of the Firstborn in Arda. Already the gardens were more overgrown than he’d last seen them, with fewer hands now remaining to tend to them, and less with each passing year. 

What sort of life would his Cíweth have? Would the dwarves grant her a home among them after her mother and father were gone? He prayed fervently that she would find her own love and perhaps even have her own children someday if she so wished, maybe preserving a small reflection of his kin in the world long after they had all departed or faded, as the blood of Elrond’s kin might remain through the descendents of Aragorn and Arwen. 

A soft hand on his shoulder startled him out of his ruminations. He looked back to see none other than Lord Elrond himself, but his kind face did nothing to lessen the pain in Legolas’ heart. 

“Do not mourn over your impending departure, Legolas… or ours. You and your family will have joyful days ahead of you yet.” 

Legolas attempted to smile at Elrond’s words, which were meant kindly but which he could not quite believe. Elrond moved to stand beside Legolas, folding his hands behind his back and looking out into the valley in front of them. 

Legolas held his breath for a moment, knowing instinctively the subject that was to discussed. 

“I have spoken with Gimli’s kinfolk this morning about their planned route for your journey to Erebor. As you well know, the quickest path is through your father’s realm, and with such a young child among you, haste is necessary. They insist that they cannot delay any longer to wait for a reply to your message to Thranduil, as there is some sort of dwarvish ceremony they intend to carry out with Cíweth as soon as possible, and that it must be done at their mountain.” 

Legolas continued to stare silently at the greenery in font of them. 

“Legolas, look at me.” 

He kept his face straight forward, steadfastly ignoring the stinging in his eyes. _It’s only the wind_ , he told himself. 

The gentle but insistent press of fingers against his chin finally made him turn, but he could not quite meet Elrond’s eyes directly. 

“Legolas, you cannot avoid your father forever. I cannot tell you what has stayed his reply, but you must face him soon. I fear the longer you put this off, the more the both of you shall suffer.” 

Legolas raised his eyes to meet Elrond at last, and an elf who had faced orcs, trolls, a balrog and the vast armies of Sauron himself could not prevent a single treacherous tear which suddenly slipped free.

 

ooooo

 

Elrond had half a mind to ride out to the Greenwood himself and take Thranduil to task over the wretched silence he had cast upon the shoulders of his own son. His messengers had privately assured him many times over the past weeks that their message had been faithfully delivered, but nothing issued forth from the gates of Thranduil’s kingdom; repeated envoys reported that the king’s guards merely shrugged and stated that they had been forbidden to discuss the matter. 

Elrond could not fathom treating Arwen or his sons in so callous a manner, no matter how angry or sorrowful he might be at their decisions. It was not his place to interfere between Thranduil and his son, he knew, but the temptation was a strong one. 

Gimli’s kin had packed and mounted their ponies, and Legolas was upon his horse. Gimli leaned up from behind him to whisper something in his ear as their daughter slept in a sturdy sling against Gimli’s breast between them. Elrond stood with Lindir and Glorfindel as he watched the dwarrowdam re-seat herself and gently rub between Legolas’ shoulder blades while the party urged their mounts forward. He somehow knew he would not see them again in this world and silently prayed to the Valar, and to Eru Himself, that their days would be blessed as they rode away from his valley.

 

ooooo

 

Gimli was deeply concerned about her husband. They’d been on the road for some days now and he had, if anything, grown quieter and more solemn. She missed his laughter, his easy smile. Half the time he clung to their daughter as though someone were planning to snatch her out of his arms. His mood seemed even to unsettle the child, her crying becoming more frequent as the summer days wore on. 

Even her cousin Dwalin was beginning to take notice of his growing distress, but nothing any of them said or did soothed him in the least. They all knew, of course. The Greenwood loomed directly ahead, and while it no longer held the threat of ravenous spiders or necromancers, Legolas gazed upon his old home with all the dread with which a condemned prisoner might look upon the executioner’s scaffold. 

Gimli found herself wondering what Galadriel would say on the matter. Her beloved Queen was far over the sea now, beyond her reach for counsel or comfort. A small locket which still hung around Gimli's neck underneath her clothing held three golden strands of hair and Gimli reached around her daughter briefly to clasp at it. Galadriel had known, then, the potential between Gimli and Legolas. Did she foresee their child, though? Those evenings Gimli had spent at the feet of Galadriel after the war, in Minas Tirith, were like a fair dream in her memory. She thought upon them and while it gave her a warmth, she could think of no sign or hint of their current challenges. 

Galadriel would have loved Cíweth, Gimli was certain. 

Gimli laid a soft kiss upon the straight back in front of her, too soft to be felt, perhaps, but then, he was an elf. The family had already passed over the ford at the Anduin and would enter Thranduil’s borders within the hour and there was simply nothing to be done for it.

 

ooooo

 

Two days they passed under the dense branches of the forest without difficulty or challenge (other than the natural wariness of the dwarves in an environment so alien to their nature), but their luck had apparently run out. 

A host of sylvan guards stood directly in their path. Legolas recognized them well enough. At one time he had counted them all as friends, but now he did not know what to expect of them. 

They reflected his own uncertainty as they glanced nervously at one another, no doubt delaying what they knew must be done. 

Dwalin and Gloin dismounted and placed a hand each to their axe handles; Unli remained seated but slipped a hand into a hidden pocket to palm the handle of a concealed dagger. 

Gimli herself slipped off the horse behind Legolas before he could prevent her and strode forward, one hand placed firmly over the head of the babe strapped to her chest and another to the axe in her belt. She found her voice quickly enough as well. 

“What cause have you to prevent the passage of my kin? We of Erebor have treaty with your king for safe passage upon this road, as you well know!” 

The guards hesitated amongst themselves a moment more and one finally stepped forward, his voice carefully controlled as he glanced back and forth between the dwarves and his prince. 

“We are aware of our treaties, good dwarf. Our business is not with you, but with the king’s son. He has been summoned to his father’s halls and we have been charged with his escort.” 

Gimli resisted the urge to spit at their feet. If her daughter had not been with her, she felt she would have taken them all on at once with a hand tied behind her back. Dwalin and Gloin came up to position themselves behind her as she replied. 

“My husband will go only where he so chooses, _elf_.” 

Legolas was taken aback at the sight before him. Three stout dwarves, his wife at the head of them, stood between him and his own people, willing to risk war with his father’s kingdom to spare him. 

_This has all gone quite far enough_ , he decided. It was cowardly to hide from one’s own father and, while he would never willingly abandon his wife and child for any other kith or kin, he still had an obligation to at least explain himself to his sire, whatever the consequences. 

He dismounted and moved past the dwarves, giving Gimli’s shoulder a firm squeeze as he came to stand beside her. 

“Peace… I will answer my father’s summons.” 

He looked to Gimli, hoping she would not press the matter in her usual bullheaded fashion. 

“Gimli, love, you and your kin need not come with me. Take our daughter and go ahead, I will catch up when my business here is finished.” 

“Forget it, son, yer family now to us also, and we’re coming along. Let Thranduil try and stop us.” 

Gloin this time, to Legolas’ astonishment. He looked back at the dwarves; Dwalin nodded gravely and Unli smirked at him under her braids.

 

ooooo

 

The guards had escorted them all through their gates with little ceremony; Legolas had attempted conversation on the familiar path, but his questions were met with a mixture of sympathetic looks and silence. 

They were greeted with the sight of a vacant throne when they reached the heart of Thranduil’s home. Dwalin and Gloin now milled about with goblets of wine in their hands, taking in the sights of a place they’d not been in a position to appreciate during their last stay. 

Gimli was seated nearby with Cíweth. She had cried at first, having awoken surrounded by strangers and her family visibly upset, but Gimli had managed to calm her and she now busied herself playing with her mother’s braids. Curious onlookers had gathered around the periphery of their space while Gimli had nursed and then changed her child just earlier, but Gimli was past the point of caring about the harsh judgment of elves so long as they left her and her family well alone. 

The dwarves had nearly come again to the point of violence when the guards had tried to usher Legolas away without them, but Legolas had again placated them and gone willingly. They knew some matters must be dealt with privately, but had every intention of reducing Thranduil to many small pieces if Legolas did not return to them in the same condition that he had left in.

 

ooooo

 

Legolas stood in the wan, leaf-filtered light that poured through the windows of his father’s personal chambers, as straight as a young tree, waiting for the king to address him. 

Thranduil’s back was to him, his gaze pointed down through the foliage at the river below; the sound of their soft breathing and a mild breeze coming in competed with the roar of Legolas' own blood in his ears. 

Thranduil’s voice came as little more than a whisper. 

“When, Legolas?” 

The younger elf blinked in confusion. When? When, what? When had he fallen in love with Gimli? When had they wed? When had their child been born? There were too many possible answers. His mouth worked silently like that of a hooked fish; he could produce no reply. 

Thranduil turned subtly, not removing his gaze from the window but shifting almost imperceptibly toward his son. His words were measured and calm, but something more volatile boiled beneath them. 

“When were you planning on telling me? 

Legolas bit back the returning threat of tears, reminding himself that his wife and daughter and their kin waited for him outside, whatever happened this day. He considered his father’s question, one he had asked himself time and time. 

“I… don’t know.” 

Thranduil’s silence filled the room for a long moment. His next words were firmer in tone than his previous, that boiling something sending up bubbles to pop at the surface of his voice. 

“Were you planning on telling me _at all_?” 

Finally, the woodland king turned around to face his son, his expression ambivalent. 

“If this unexpected child had not come to force the issue, _would you have ever said a word of it_?” 

Legolas did not even notice when he stepped back from his father, the anger in the king’s voice shocking his son into silence. Legolas dropped his gaze to the trim of his father’s robes, unable to withstand the intensity of his eyes any longer. Suddenly he felt very young again, like a child caught after breaking something precious he’d been told not to touch. 

“I… I didn’t think you would understand—“ 

The pain in Thranduil’s voice finally broke through to the surface, erupting at last. 

“Understand, Legolas, _understand_? How could I? _HOW COULD I_? What you have done... no, I do _not_ understand it.” 

Thranduil paused, breathing deeply as he made another attempt to control his voice. 

“You are my _son_ , Legolas. I will not pretend that I am not astonished. I will not deny that I am deeply angry with what you have done. But _you should have told me_!” 

Thranduil again turned his back on his son. 

“Do you have so little love for your own father? So little faith? Why did I learn of this, not from my own blood, but from some _envoy of Imladris_?!” 

The king’s fist landed on the desk beneath the window with violence. Legolas flinched despite himself; shame clogged his throat. 

Thranduil roughly dragged a hand through his long hair, leaving it mussed out of place as he turned back to his son; Legolas had never seen him do such a thing in his life. They stared at each other in a tense silence for what felt like an eternity. 

Surprisingly, it was Thranduil who broke away first. 

“I don’t know you anymore, Legolas. Perhaps I never did. Never in my wildest dreams or deepest nightmares could I have forseen… this.” 

Legolas had no idea how to even begin to reply to such a statement. A part of him wanted to run into his father’s arms as he had done as a child, to be held and comforted, but it seemed utterly impossible now. Thranduil covered his face with a shaking hand. 

“Take the child to Erebor. Perhaps they will know better what to do with her.” 

‘ _And you’_ seemed to Legolas to be the unspoken conclusion. He briefly lifted a hand, wanting to reach out to his father, to comfort _him_ in some way, but he was unable to do so. He turned silently and slowly walked toward the door. His hand was upon it when he turned back. 

“I am sorry, adar.” 

Thranduil’s reply was little more than a whisper, reaching Legolas across the room as though from a great distance. 

“You are still my son, Legolas, and my love for you cannot be broken so easily… but I cannot bring myself to forgive you today. In time…” 

The king shook his head and turned back to his window, dismissing his prodigal offspring.

 

ooooo

 

The rest of the journey to Erebor was quiet but far less tense. The dwarves seemed ever more determined to lay claim to Legolas and pull him further into their midst. Dwalin had shocked him from head to toe by declaring that he must begin learning Khuzdul as soon as possible, and even Gloin agreed (so long as he swore not to share it with any dratted elves, of course, and now you’re officially an overgrown pointy-eared _dwarf_ so just accept it laddie and stop arguing with yer da). Legolas suspected it all had as much to do with spite toward his father as anything else, but their apparent acceptance warmed him nonetheless. 

Even the suspicious looks and cold welcome he received at the gates of the dwarf kingdom in the Lonely Mountain could not dampen his renewed spirits. He had his wife and his daughter. He knew it would not be simple or easy, but in time he would regain his father and kin as well. 

There was the future to look forward to. Gimli now spoke often of her plans to take a host of dwarves to those caves and begin a new kingdom to rival the glory even of Moria at its peak, with Legolas and Cíweth at her side, and there was no use arguing, he could go play in Ithilien during holidays. 

As Legolas now walked the halls of Erebor with Cíweth babbling at him in his arms and his wife striding ahead of him, he thought perhaps the Fourth Age would not just be a time of endings, but also a time of beginnings, and the bringing forth of new things.

 

ooooo

 

The lady draped an arm over her husband’s shoulder as he leaned upon his hammer, both of them looking out as if watching at a great distance. He felt rather than saw her smile, and placed a hand on her arm, returning the warmth he felt from his wife. 

“I don’t think they quite expected that one, my love.” 

“Oh, certainly not.” 

She laughed warmly, planting a kiss to his cheek. 

“I think they make quite an adorable little family.” 

She felt deep laughter rising from within his broad chest. 

“Who could think otherwise?” 

“Only fools, darling. Only fools.” 

Yavanna pull her husband’s chin toward her, kissing Aulë deeply before departing, leaving him to return to his forge.

 

 


End file.
